


Will We Live, Just A Little?

by AQuietThinker



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Torture, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, First big work, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Newt Scamander, Hurt Tina Goldstein, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/No Comfort, Other, POV Alternating, Please have patience, Protective Theseus Scamander, Romance, Sad Newt Scamander, Theseus Scamander is a Good Sibling, additional tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:40:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker
Summary: He used to wake up to the kind growl of a creature, the loving eyes of an American witch (at least every few weeks), the smell of nostalgic apple strudel.Now he wakes up to a cold stone matress, breath of dull whiskey, the gagging stench of self-misery.A tale of the kidnapping of a certain Newt Scamander, and proof that he is in fact... human.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everybody!  
> I am happy to say that this is a fic I have been planning for a long time. It's going to be one of my first longer works. The summary basically tells you all you need to know, and I don't really want to spoil anything.  
> I tried my best to stay true to most facts but it's a little difficult.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of Alcohlisism

“I’ve already told you thrice, Pickett. I am not under arrest or any sort of trouble. They just…”

He stared down and the porcelain coloured envelope for the millionth time, dark blue typewriter ink.  _ Mr. Newton Scamander.  _ He had given himself a surprise when it arrived, flying through his door to the top of the piles that Jacob had neatly stacked on the divan.

“The just wanted to talk. Like civilised people.”

Newt Scamander, Destroyer of New York, enemy of the world’s most wanted wizard. Such high tittle never suited him, fame always being given to his brother rather than him. And Theseus fit well with it. War hero, perfect student, perfect son.

Contrary to popular belief, Newt never felt any kind of jealousy towards his brother. Quite on the contrary, he admired the man. Even so, nothing the auror said would ease his nervousness whenever at the Ministry. 

As far as he recalled, this was the first time the officials called upon him in a, quote on quote, non-aggressive way. It was always some form of fine or arrest due to his fascination with somewhat illegal creatures. He hated how dependent of his brother he became at first, but through the years and scars and creatures he became passively fond of annoying the auror with his worn case and yellow-black scarf.

The bowtruckle on his pocket broke called upon his attention with a small pinch, urging him with constant squeaks to leave, flee as a priority from the dangerous men with wands and handcuffs. He couldn't blame the creature.

“Alright, fine, talking about the damaging usage of dragons for warfare is not civilised, but at least they did not lock you in a box and handcuff me to a raging fire.”

Pickett rolled his little seed-like eyes before blowing his typical raspberry. He turned around and climbed to the warmth of his breast pocket, but pinched him one last time.

The magizoologist gave out a hearty sigh, stopping on his track to observe head of the creature. Sure, the meeting had stressed him out more than Bunty and her little sisters’ group of fanatics, but maybe this was a sign that they prefer to be on good terms. And, as Theseus constantly reminded him, maybe they would lift the damned travel ban. Again.

Before the whole fiasco in Paris, Newt’s bucket list was far more short than nowadays. He only concentrated on his book and maybe that certain MACUSA auror. ow, everything had changed. He didn't often think of the negative effects, like the lack of sleep and burdening guilt, but on the positive thought that Tina and him exchanged letters more than ever.

He was not particularly lonely either, no. At least not physically. Again referring to the Paris incident, as everyone around him that held some sort of important position liked to call it, Jacob had been living with him. Change, the short man had told him, was very much needed. With the bakery well taken care off and New York, Jacob had begun trying to open the store again in London. Business, as guaranteed with his delicious confections, was booming, but Newt suspected that behind the sugar and smiles, Jacob was feeling as miserable as himself.

The man terribly missed Queenie, he knew, but there was nothing to be done. After going back home to actually legalize his stay in London (magically appearing on the middle of the country had not suit his legal needs) he looked for a place to stay, but the Hufflepuff offered quickly. There was plenty of room in his little home.

Maybe enough for Tina, but she was busy off in America (He preferred to differ from that topic). Or maybe enough for Theseus to drop by at least one in a while. Maybe-

“It’s such a rare sight to see you without handcuffs around here, little brother.”

Speak of the devil.

“Theseus. Long time no see.”

Newt stared up at the pair of eyes that mirrored his in colour, failing to ignore the eyebags under his brother’s own.

“You haven't slept in days, have you?”

“Could say the same for you.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

That honest smile of his, reserved to only the closest.

“Then we must be the strongest warriors upon England.”

He swung his steps around motioning the direction of the flu fireplaces.

“Are you busy this afternoon?”

“Natalie is three months pregnant and needs to bathe-”

“Good. Spare me a pint then.”

“Did you even hear me?”

“Newt, Erumpets give birth ad six months, she’ll be fine.”

“Where did you learn that from?”

This time he failed to see a little disappointment in his brother’s eyes, staring back they approached the constantly perishing green flames of the dark emerald hall. The gold decorations and reflection water from the grand fountain made the place glow faintly, illuminating the few wizards and witches that remained.

“You still believe I have not read your book?”

“Not my fault that your department banned it for three whole months.”

“Newt, there’s a line between family and work.”

“A thin line for you, then?”

“As small as a snidget, but as golden as one.”

The younger one closed his eyes, smiling at the second reference of his work. The auror was right after all, maybe he wasn't giving Theseus the chance of rebuilding the bond they had shattered in Paris.

“You seem awfully eager to talk.”

“After all that’s happened, yes. I do care about you, Newt.”

He ignored the comment, holding back any emotion and trying to form another genuine looking smile.

“Where to, then?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

_____________________

The door shut quietly and locked into place with a quick wave of his wand, the room already illuminated before he entered. A smell, that of apple and sugar and spice, filled his nostrils with the warmth of a well kept home.

“Oi! Newt! Close the door before the cold gets in!”

Jacob appeared from the kitchen, wearing a slightly small apron, hands busy with a battered stained wooden spoon. His expression softened, smiling at the freshly arrived wizard. People constantly thought he kept a house-wife instead of an american muggle.

“Wash your hands before you come to the kitchen.”

Perhaps he was keeping an american muggle housewife.

He entered the kitchen with still wet hands, admiring as his friend cooked without a wand. Newt had never been much of a cook; he could concoct deadly venom and life saving vials in the blink of an eye, but was never capable of cooking anything beyond fried eggs or warming up toast. Jacob began humming, slipping and apple strudel from the oven. The wizard might be wrenched with guilt and pain, but he never went hungry.

They both sat down as Newt set the table with his own wand, cocking an eyebrow at the unusual cheerines of his housemate.

“You seem happier than usual.”

“What are ye talking about?” Jacob replied, chewing slowly on a piece of mince pie. “I’m always cheerful.”

“More, than usual.”

The muggle shrugged his shoulders.

“Fair, fair. News came. Ye know, from Tina’s magical papers. she keeps sending them to me as a little token of gratitude or something. MACUSA says they are closer now to that Grindelwald idiot.”

He stopped paying attention at the mention of the auror, but reduced any gesticulation.

“Say, your amount of letters keeps growing. Like you aren't paying your bills.” Jacob stopped chewing. ”Wait.  _ Are you _ paying your bills?”

“I don’t use electricity, Jacob.”

“Oh.”

Jacob’s constant errors on the workings of the magical community amused Newt even on the darkest moments. The man was a truly fine specimen, never hiding his awe every time things floated around, ignoring the fact that he was constantly surrounded by magic. Newt had never given though to the fact that magic made things a thousand times more easy, but his friend always did.

At least Jacob tried to keep up the spirits.

“Any news from Tina, by the way?”

“She’s been terribly busy in MACUSA lately, so it’s natural to receive few words from her.”

He terribly missed her, the cracked loneliness being the reason to most of his sleep deprivation and unusual intake of alcohol.

“Oh well, governments always working hard for all of us.” He stood up, picking up his plates manually before discarding the apron. “I’m turning in. Tomorrow I have another big meeting with that bank near the bakery…”

He kept on ranting before stopping at the door.

“You gonna be fine tonight, Newt?”

The magizoologist blinked, staring up with his numb expression.

“Yes, yes of course.”

If the answer didn’t convince him, Jacob did not show.

“Sure. Night then.”

“Goodnight.”

He sat motionless as he heard the last footsteps upstairs, the lights finally disappearing, leaving only him and the candle in the kitchen. 

He would not be fine tonight, but then again, when was he ever? 

Everything was settled for the night, creatures fed and tucked in. Theseus was content with his seemingly normal behaviour after a few drinks, Jacob also satisfied. he had not liked the Ministry meeting one bit, but at least they were now in rather non-aggressive terms.

With a flick of his wand, a bottle of fire whiskey apparated before him, cap popping off. He swung down the burning liquor down his throat, ignoring the ticking of a clock nearby.

He never slept nowadays. Just killed the guilt away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter. I wrote this at 2 am. (Don't judge me, inspiration is rare this days)
> 
> Warnings: Alcoholism, light swearing

“Your were drunk again yesterday, weren’t you?”

Theseus’s accusation runs noisily through his ears, making his headache scratch against the insides of his skull in a rather unpleasant manner. Regardless of the pain, Newt kept on throwing juicy meat at the graphone cub, ignoring the man behind him.

“Answer me Newt, please. We are all worried about you-”

“There you go on again with that phrase.”

He didn’t regret the remark, not caring enough to bite back any sort of offensive word. Months ago he would have stayed silent in an apologising manner. No, months ago we would not have drunken that much fire whiskey.

“If you won’t stop for me then do it for Mr. Kowalski. Having a depressedly drunk wizard is not necessarily safe.” Theseus said, walking up to his level.

Newt walked on, entering the shed and gathering a few ingredients before settling down near the old typewriter, grinding the green substances together.

“You are only running away from the problem.”

“I am not running away from the problem, Theseus. There is no problem.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Newton. You getting drunk beyond repair every damn night and then waking up pretending to be fine isn't a problem? Mr. Kowalski and Bunty’s constant “I’m terribly worried about Newt” letters aren’t a problem? The absence of Ms. Goldstein? Get yourself together, Newton.”

“Easy for you to say.” Newt mumbled, grinding violently.

“Why is that?”

“At least you don’t have to worry about a woman hating you.”

Guilt instantly flooded in his stomach, the grinding stone landing on his index finger, forcing out blood. He hung his head in shame, trying to apologise.

“Theseus, I-”

“Don’t. Please don’t.”

As he turned his head, slightly scared, he saw that his brother was now sitting down on one of the hidden stools, looking at the ground in distaste. Whatever words he thought he could use were denied immediately, hating himself entirely for the cruel sentence. Idiot. They stood in silence, prisoners to though.

“Theseus-”

“Listen, Newt.” The auror now stood up, his face showing no anger but crude tiredness. “Whether you like it or not, there are still people who care about you. And caring means worrying. I know you hate the idea of others depending on you, but stop being selfish and pull yourself together, just once.”

Newt stood there, glued to the ground as his sibling climbed the stair out the case, leaving a murderous silence behind.

There was no way he could apologise for the comment; what was done was done. He deeply desired for some form to travel back in time, but it was hopeless.

“I’m really messing up, aren’t I?”

There was no reply except for the distant growls and sniffs of the creatures he cared and loved.

\-----------

In spite of everything, there was one thing he could do to start picking up his life. The letters that Jacob had previously piled up where now a disaster on the floor of the shed. Whether it was Dougal who made them a mess or himself in of the aggressive attacks he now constantly had, he could not tell.

Sorting them out with magic would have been easier, but he did it by hand, enjoying a few moments of peace. He sorted them out in categories, again and agai before actually opening any. Some were from his editor, others from Bunty or his fellow associates in the ministry. He ignored the blue inked ones from the Auror Department, focusing on more foreign ones. As usual, no american stamped letter was present.

He finally settled for the one with Hogwarts waxy red seal, trying to focus on it’s meaning rather than the smell of paper.

Dear Newton,

I hope this letter finds you well. I appreciate the occamy shells you recently sent, they were quite useful for old Horace. I might say he was euphoric when I delivered them, constantly asking for a way to repay him. I simply told him it any sort of payment was the satisfaction of scientific achievements. 

As for any news of Grindelwald and his whereabouts, I am truly sorry to disappoint. Nothing has come up in my contacts, even if press continues to excite people with lies of newly found clues.

Would you like to have tea this Saturday? Most students will be present in the Quidditch game (Ravenclaw against Slytherin, nothing interesting truly) and we might have some privacy in the castle. There are many matters that I can only trust to discuss face to face.

Do send my regards to Theseus.

Warm regards,

Albus.

He has signed his whole name underneath the flourishing penmanship. Typical of Dumbledore.

Newt, in all his feelings towards the message, did not in the slightest want to have tea with the professor. It would be crude, provoking, and he would ask uncomfortable questions that had answers he had hidden away in his heart.

No news from Grindelwald meant he did not have any extra work.

Oh well.

“Hey Newt?! I think yer niffler escaped again!”

Jacob’s voice disturbed his thoughts, looking up at the opening of the case. Little bugger.

He climbed up the stairs, ignoring the quill and fresh parchment upon the cluttered desk.

Maybe tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter. I kinda want to make a longer one, but this is it for today.
> 
> I can't really promise weeke updates. There may go months without an update or days of three chapters at a time. Oh Well.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new point of view for Tina.  
> Enjoy ;)

Tina Goldstein- recognized witch, second in command of the auror department in MACUSA- threw her wand at the wall.

It bounced back with a small explosion of blue flames, landing on the floor near her foot. The action brought no satisfaction to her sheer frustration and only added more weight on her shoulders.

“Goldstein?”

“I’m fine. Go back to work.”

Smith’s peeking face backed away with an offended frown at the harsh snapping, but she had no time to apologize. He, however, seemed to understand why her mood had gone dark very suddenly. The whole floor understood.

The title of the New York Ghost explained it all; three political murders and two suicide bombers on Wall Street, main suspect, Gellert Grindelwald. Even if this were minor attacks compared to the massacres in Europe, Madame Piquery had given direct orders of constant alert. 

That had been a month ago, and the situation had only worsened.

Heaving her wand and coat, she stepped into the fireplace, hoping that Theseus Scamander was not in the same mood she was.

____________________

“-and that’s what he told you?”

Her brows were knit together, staring at the blue eyes of the british auror before her. Ash from the ornamented fireblack still clung to the hem of her coat, fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden surface of the desk.

The auror sighed softly, leaning back on the chair. She had been inside the office before- flue trips to the British Ministry of Magic were not rare these days- but something was different. She could see the wariness of Theseus’s eyes, the exhaustion held between the creases of his brow.

“McFly always speaks in riddles, Ms. Goldstein..”

He reached for his pocket watch before standing up, taking his own black coat.

“I should go back now too. Graves will be-”

“No, stay at least for the night.”

“Excuse me?”

Theseus eyed her with amusement, leaning on his desk.

“I know a certain wizard who is in great need to see you.”

He smirked at her widening eyes.

“Would I be wrong if I claimed that you would be very much pleased as well.”

She looked down at the stained shoes, heart racing.

“Go to him, Tina. He needs you. I’ll make sure Graves takes this as one of the many favour he owes me.”

____________

She was now planted in front of the door of the house she had barely been to, staring at the dull doorknob that once should have shined like the sun. The cool breeze of the upcoming autumn winds ruffled her short hair and scarf, obscuring her view every few seconds.

It had been five long months since she’d last seen him, that man with feathery hair and eyes of a gentle kindness she had never seen. There was a small amount of guilt on her back; she read the copious amounts of letter he sended nearly every night but rarely sent a reply. She could assume the position of a busy auror in times of crisis, but it would not be completely true. And she never liked lying to him.

She stepped towards the door but hesitated, wondering if he was even home. Night had already fallen on the dimly lit streets of London, but, according to Theseus, his brother was used to spending long nights outside his small home.

(Another guilt she carried, knowing full well how he had fallen prey to the confines of alcohol.)

Finally, knuckles neared the wooden surface to tap on the door, but before it reached the door, the thing swung open and a pair of arms engulfed her. She stood in surprise for a second before returning the hug, inhaling the natural essence of the man before her.

“Newt.”

“Tina.”

_______________

They were slouched against the thin trunks of prairie trees, watching the female erumpent lying other side, swollen belly glowing. Newt, in all, was not surprised to see Tina in London, but grew rather surprised to find her standing outside his door on the cool breezes, pondering when to knock. 

Was she thinking that he was not home? What had Theseus told her?

As he nearly killed himself running down the small stairs and rushing to the door, he decide on how to greet her, how to deal with another human being that was no Jacob or his brother. He would greet her properly, approach with a handshake and-

But all was thrown to rubbish when he saw her shining brown eyes, silky hair swayed by wind, coat clinging to her curvy frame in a way he had never seen on a woman. Once his hands enveloped her waist he was lost in the smells of the sea and forests and endless other things that reminded him of a faraway home he once belonged in.

She began talking instantly when they finally entered, word pouring down her lips from her travels and work and anything else. He listened carefully, hoping to catch onto every single detail.

Standing inside his flat was ominous, and, thanking her willingness, she proposed to enter his basement. He had never met anyone with such interest and familiarity with his creatures as her. She moved gracefully around, showing of her skills as she fed and nourished the animals. They recognized her strong and kind demeanor, leaving Newt perched near Dougal’s nest, admiring the woman he wished was his.

“-and I had to come to a meeting, but Theseus told me to take the day of and come see you for a while. Madame Piquery does not usually allow it, after all the past incidents in the department, but-”

“What do you mean?”

Newt disliked interrupting her at any moment, but his curiosity, and worry, spiked.

“What?”

“Incidents in the department?”

Tina’s mouth twisted into a grimace.

“After we found Graves half beaten to dead in the basement of an abandoned factory, random workers in various departments have disappeared. Does that happen here two?”

“Disappearances?”

He thought for a moment, trying to recall any comments from his brother about the Ministry.

“No. But the amount of wizards and witches that are turning towards Grindelwald’s cause is steadily rising.”

“How ridiculous. Why would anyone in their sane state of mind betray-”

Her sentence drowned in the memories of Paris, and, hoping to refrain from painful thoughts, he changed the topic.

They went on and on, switching turns on speaking freely of their lives, how dull paperwork was. Throughout the night and early dawn he felt himself happy in the first time in weeks, but could still feel the tension of unspoken topics.

Newt could understand the pain that Tina suffered from the betrayal of her sister but didnt know how to offer comfort. He knew she wanted to ask about the many bottles in his pantry, or the dozens of pointless letters.

“I have to go back now.”

“I know.”

“Will you be alright?”

“I always am, Tina.”

He said nothing, did nothing. They strode slowly to the door, internally hoping to never reach it. 

“I’ll see when I can come again. Maybe by then they can lift your traveling ban.”

“That would be lovely.”

He, once again, tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, fingers gently passing through the side of her face as she leaned to the touch.

“Take care, Newt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recently finished a book called "All QUiet on the Western Front" which made me think that Newt and Theseus were actually in a bloody war and probably hold a lot of trauma from that. Maybe I'll add nightmares to this two?  
> Tenner for your thoughts.  
> Please feel free to leave a comment behind.  
> ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, nothing much to say here, maybe at the end.  
> ;)
> 
> Trigger warnings; Alcoholism

_ Six months later _

  
  


_ He is running, fleeing from a certain enemy that no one can see. The atmosphere is grey, his uniform, the sky, even the poor light emitted by his wand. No wizard now cares to keep magic hidden from muggle eye, there is only the biological necessity of survival. Feral eyes keep on the lookout for falling shells, animalistic teeth ripping on dead horse’s meat for any sort of nutrient. _

_ His boots trip on countless objects, the variety making his stomach twist around itself; dismembered body parts, half dead soldiers moaning as death awaited patiently to their side, guns and cartridges now useless. _

_ He can hear the distant yet powerful cries of the creature, the echo of heavy artillery. He needs to run, trample, get to it before the enemy does. _

_ And yet, at this point in his mind, everyone's the enemy. _

_ He is now desperate, barley avoiding death once again at the smell of gas. The protective bubble that springs from his wand only adds guilt to his back as other men double over in sheer agony, dry tears and vomit stenching their already muddied uniforms.  _

_ He keeps running, finally reaching the ladder to the place no man will cross. Fires rage, cries from his broken bones begging. _

_ They beg for release. For survival. For death. _

_ “Midnight!” _

_ It’s majestic wings have been reduced to meager scales, body crashed to the side of the field. Once silver scales are now scattered on the uneven plot of land, seeping on pools of rotten water and black blood. Bullets rain over them as, in a last feeble attempt to protect her friend, the dragon engulfs him with her tail. _

_ “Stop! Midnight!” _

_ Ghastly cries and thunder boom in his ears, the agony of war tearing through the trenches.  _

_ Human being at their lowest. _

_ The canons keep on going, men screaming as they run to their deaths, magic and normality clashing into a mix of trauma. _

_ “MIDNIGHT!” _

_ The creature is dead.  _

_ Like all the men here, he wasn't able to reach her on time, and that failure tasted of mud. _

_ Phantom faces rush towards him, covered in blood and the sins of his failure, of his miserable existence, of his ongoing wish of just ending it all. _

Reality crushes against his head as he snaps back to reality, desperate hands reaching out and grasping at the surface of his bed post with madness, nails tearing and knuckles scraping. His forehead is dotted with sweat, eyes darting around the room in the search for reality. 

He is not caught by surprise by the nightmare, but rather by the lack of company. 

Vivid dreams such as this one haunted him ever since the war along with the many men by his side, but, contrary to them, Newt had companions to lull him back to bed, or in most occasions, accompany him to mourn at the bottom of a cup of tea or whiskey bottle.

Dougal (his usual night companion) was nowhere to be seen, neither Picket or the thestral foal he had recently found after Tina’s last visit.

(He ignored the sting that accompanied the fact that the encounter had been six months ago. He counted every day)

He threw on his waistcoat and trousers, giving up on the promise of dreamless sleep. Sitting on the bed, he opened the drawer with a creaking noise to make sure that his most prized possession was intact; a small, velvet black box that carried a simple golden band, small jem the colour of her mesmerizing eyes.

He longed to finally give it to her, to hear the answer from her lips, to spin her around in circles until they both fell in each others arms.

Hangover headaches and a dirty breath threatened any alcohol away from his grasp, so he settled for tasteless tea and the only letter Tina has sent in her long absence. The silence seemed to suffocate him.

Jacob had left for Turkey a few days back, claiming to be in the search for a new chocolate recipe. Even with the excuse, Newt was not dumb. He knew that the american was more than ready to go back home, his grief over Queenie leaving now turning into an old scar. He could not put any blame on the man, but the thought gave him a sour mouth.

He turned to the letter, fingertips hovering above the blue ink. He knew it by memory, observing each curve and detail of the words, smelling its dusty surface.

_ My dearest Newt, _

He was her only dearest.

_ First I would like to apologise for the lack of answers to your own post, but work has got me stuck in an endless amount of paperwork. en Director Graves has no time to share lunch with Madame Piquery! _

He smiled, remembering the juicy gossip she would ramble on about, detailing him with all the secret romances of her office.

_ Theseus told me that your levels of alcoholism have dropped, and, I must say, I am so proud. This last few months couldn't have possibly been easy on you, on any of us really. I myself forget to have dinner or breakfast sometimes. It’s very lonely at home. _

Newt could feel the physical pain behind those words, an abysm of guilt and betrayal staining her pure heart. He longed to kiss the pain away, even take it for himself.

_ The bowtruckle that you gave me has made herself a small nest atop the bookshelf. I’ve named her Daisy, and, even if there isn't many trees at home, she likes it here. _

_ I’m sorry to say that you won’t be hearing or seeing me soon, for Director Graves is entrusting me on a longer mission than usual.  _

The idea of her being away, at first, terrified him. 

_ Hopefully, though, we can meet again afterwards: How do you feel about some place in Europe? Maybe Portugal? Maybe the italian shore? I’ve heard they have lovely beaches. _

_ You are the expert traveler, but here were just some suggestions. _

_ Send my regards to your creatures, especially to the newborn erumpent. _

_ See you soon, _

_ Your loving Tina. _

His loving Tina. His loving Tina, with the most magnificent eyes, beautiful nose, plentiful lips that, by the grace of angels, should always be smiling.

(Loneliness carves at his soul every night, wondering why she had forgotten him.)

__________________

His eyes burned with broken sleep by the time Bunty trots out the door, asking, for the first time in forever, an early leave.

Despite his disappearance at dawn, Dougal kept him company as he threaded through his morning activities calmly. In spite of the bad beginning, his day seemed to have gotten better over the course of the hours, enjoying a magnificent ride on the growing thestral. 

His manuscript was now properly organized into categories, even ready to send a second draft to the publisher as he feeds himself proper food for once, caring enough to cook himself something rather than tasteless tea and biscuits.

“Newt?”

He frowns at the interruption, glancing with an annoyed expression as the face of his brother draws itself on the fading embers of his hearth. 

“Newton Scamander?”

The urge of throwing the remains of the cold tea on his brother tempt him.

“Are you home?”

“Theseus?”

He tries to keep a friendly tone but, as his brother appears in the room with a swish of his long black cape, brushing soot off his boots, his expression sickens. 

Theseus erects himself fully, glancing around nervously before finally trotting to the edge of the room, looking out a window. He knows that expression very well.

“It’s Tina, isn’t it?”

Theseus face twist into a grimace, eyes staring into him before retreating to the corner. His swallowed thickly, raising his hand as if dealing with a dangerous beast. His tone is soft, so gentle that Newt instantly regrets asking.

“I’m so sorry, little brother.”

__________________

(Later, Theseus Scamander would tell Percival Graves that he knew the sound a human being made when it’s heart as broken.)

(It wasn't poetic, or tragically beautiful.)

(It was the cry of desperation, as the will to live left a soul.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of my World War 1 references come from books, like I mentioned before. Mostly I thought nightmares and PTSD would be something aynone that went to war carries.  
> I have forgotten to mention the trigger warnings at the top of other chapters, but do mind the tags.  
> Feel free to leave a comment!  
> ;)

**Author's Note:**

> So that's that. The next few chapter are going to introduce most of the characters and their current situation before actually getting to anything violent or gory.  
> I already have most of the story planned out, but please feel free to add any ideas with the comments. They mean a lot.  
> ;)


End file.
